Imitation Of Life
by lwbush
Summary: Things in Sunnydale have changed a lot, although hardly anyone knows it. WARNING: Character Death(s). Fixed screwiness due to the way this site reads certain characters.


Imitation Of Life  
By Lori Bush  
~**~  
  
Feedback: lwbush@charter.net   
  
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon, etc. owns Buffy. You know the routine.  
  
Summary: Things in Sunnydale have changed a lot, although hardly anyone knows it.   
  
Pairing: B/X - although only lightly. There's some B/S and X/A too.  
  
Rated: PG-13  
  
Continuity: I started this before "Gone" aired, but certain things in that episode fit here so nicely. Set not too long after that.  
  
Author's Notes: This story resulted from a challenge by Jen (Saturn Girl) on the Dead Xander list. And I quote:  
  
"Everyone loves Vamp!Xander, but he gets a lot of play on this list.   
I want to see something fresh and new. I'm challenging list members to come up with a Dead Xander concept that's NEVER been done before. That's right, surprise us with a completely original spin on Dead Xander.  
  
That means no Vamp!Xander, Ghost!Xander, Resurrected!Xander, HighlanderImmortal!Xander, Crow!Xander, or anything you've already seen on mailing lists."  
  
How could I resist? This was started on my vacation, as well, along with my last challenge response.  
  
Oh, there will be some slight bashing, although it's more of the Buffy/Spike relationship than Spike himself. Still issuing the warning, just to be on the safe side.  
  
And I couldn't find the transcript to "Life Serial" and didn't feel like re-watching the episode, so the dialogue from that may not be exactly right.  
  
Dedication: To Jen, who else? It was her seed that blossomed into this idea.  
  
Warning: This was a Dead Xander list challenge - there will be character death. Not just one, either.  
  
~**~  
  
Things were the way they always were with Spike - weird, twisted, violent and ugly. They'd had their usual full-contact foreplay, complete with bloodletting and fisticuffs, and now they were into the sex. It was a typical night for Buffy with Spike, until two things happened, one quite unexpected.   
  
She climaxed, and Spike burst into a cloud of dust.  
  
"S-s-s-spike?" she gasped, sounding both sated and confused. Her confusion apparently grew when the dust cleared and a familiar face came into focus. "Xander?"  
  
"Uh," he looked himself over, "yup," he confirmed. He watched with some interest as Buffy gaped back at him, finally becoming aware of her own nakedness. As she groped for her clothes, he graced her with a blissful grin, which she didn't seem to appreciate.  
  
"Why'd you do that?" Okay, the fact she was covered with only her skirt, and at that, haphazardly, somewhat detracted from the power of her angry tone. "I mean..."  
  
"He was hurting you," her friend responded earnestly. "I can't see you get hurt."  
  
Her words indicated she was royally pissed off in a way that was purely Buffy. "Those moans were not of pain," she snapped.  
  
He shrugged loosely. "That's why I didn't stake him until you - well, finished."  
  
Everything in her registered that he should be the one who was pissed. Or at least, he should be acting pissed, too, like she was. Or hurt at her betrayal. Or - something - anything but this calm, slightly amused man before her. "You're not Xander."  
  
"We went over this already, Buff. I am. I can show you my ID if you'd like." She shook her head, her face scrunched up in concentration.  
  
"You aren't mad or sad about me and Spike. You used to care so much about everything I did wrong, or what you thought was wrong." Her frown deepened, her voice softer. "And you were usually right about what you thought was wrong."  
  
He seemed to be calculating, and he mumbled in thought. "Jealously wouldn't be right - the love thing was Anya. And the sleeping with a demon? Anya again. A friend would care, would stop the hurting. I think I reacted properly." His odd musings over, he looked her in the eyes. "Would it make you happy if I were loud and rude? I can do that." His helpful tone and smile struck a chord in her memory she didn't take the time to examine.  
  
Buffy had given up on her underwear, since she wasn't sure where it had gone, but she had found and put on her bra and top, and she stood, zipping up her skirt. "Who ARE you?" she insisted. "Because you don't sound like Xander."  
  
"Damn," he said conversationally. "Really, Buffy, I *am* Xander. Most of me, anyway." The expression on the Slayer's face told him he'd already said too much, and now that wasn't going to be enough. He sat down on a large crate, and motioned for her to sit beside him, which she did. "I'm Xander. I have his body, and his sense of humor, his memories, and I did point out, his ID."  
  
"So where's Xander?" she insisted.  
  
"I AM Xander," he replied, just as insistently. "I'm just dead," he mumbled, hanging his head a moment later.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Xander - that Xander, anyway, is technically dead. You aren't supposed to be able to tell the difference. I musta screwed up." He hung his head even further, and good God, he sure sounded like Xander. That tone when he had to admit he was wrong - something he only rarely did, but did with all his heart when the time came. He had the tiny scar by his eye Xander had gotten when he'd fallen during the first engagement with the Sisterhood of the Jhe - the one where she'd told him to go away afterwards. He even smelled like Xander - his cologne, his shampoo, and that something clearly male and indescribably purely Xander. She *shouldn't* have been able to tell the difference, she realized. If this wasn't her best friend, it was a nearly carbon copy. She put her hand over his, the angry look completely gone. "Tell me what happened," she asked softly.  
  
"Remember back when you first came back from being dead, and tried to find a job?" How could she forget - it was a mortifying experience. Humility had never been one of her best attitudes, and that whole experience had brought it on in spades. "The day you came to work with me..."  
  
~**~  
  
Xander walked Buffy to the edge of the site. "Are you firing me?" she asked, stunned.  
  
"Pretty much," he said firmly but sadly.  
  
"Oh. Okay."  
  
He hugged her goodbye and watched her walk away, sad but still proud. She'd done good, killed those demons, saved his co-workers lives and quite possible his ass as well. But he couldn't afford to lose this job, and he couldn't find the right way to fight for her right to stay, so he'd been forced to let her go. He turned and walked back into the building, a little po'd at the attitude of the men that he'd considered his friends before this.   
  
Little did he know there was one demon that still remained. It hadn't materialized fully until its companions were already dead, and it was wandering outside the building, using the scent of the Slayer Andrew had given it as a guide to locate its target. Suddenly, the smell was upon it...  
  
Xander never knew what hit him. He was walking back across the deserted yard, thinking about how he'd failed Buffy somehow, when next thing he knew, he was on his face in the dirt, bleeding profusely from the deep wound in his temple. He'd been hit enough times before to know this was different. This was one he wasn't going to just get over in a couple of days. In fact, this was one he'd probably never get over. He'd probably never even get up again. The thing hit him again and he heard bones crack in his back, reinforcing the finality of his situation.  
  
"My God, Andrew, that's Xander Harris, not the Slayer. Make that thing go away." He heard the familiar voice squeaking in panic, but he wasn't sure whose it was. It was just familiar. Another, unfamiliar voice murmured some words in what might have been a demon tongue, and Xander could vaguely sense someone or something near him, but he didn't get hit again. He did get rolled over, however, which forced a thin grunt of pain from his lips. "Oh, man, this isn't good. He's hurt really bad," the familiar voice said with a trace of tears in its tone. Xander made his eyes focus on the face he knew hung right over his own.  
  
"Jonathon," he groaned in recognition.  
  
"Hang on, Xander, we're gonna get help," his former classmate assured him. Then, the panic back in his tone, Jonathon called over his shoulder, "Get Warren, quick. He might know what to do."  
  
Mercifully, the bleeding man passed out from the pain. Or maybe the blood loss. Xander simply welcomed the blackness, he didn't analyze it.  
  
When he awoke, he was lying on a table in a room full of geeky wonders. There were Star Wars and Star Trek figurines, all kinds of gaming equipment, computer equipment, and just plain equipment scattered about. He felt - odd. Like something was missing, but he didn't know what. "Where am I?" he croaked, sitting up, and his voice felt and sounded like a tin can crumpling.  
  
"Needs some adjustment on the voice module," someone said behind him, and things went - well, not black, but still for a moment. Like his senses were all frozen. Then he felt back in control again, and he shook his head to make sure.  
  
"Where am I?" he repeated, sounding like himself this time.  
  
"You're in our secret headquarters," a voice - he identified it as the unfamiliar one from his work site after he was attacked - Andrew, his memory offered - said proudly.  
  
"Shhh!" Jonathon chastised Andrew, "He'll go back and tell the Slayer."  
  
"No he won't," the voice that had spoken behind him earlier - *still unidentified,* his brain reported in a computer-like fashion - said, and the owner of that voice came around in front of him. He felt his mind riffling through his memory. *Warren,* it told him mechanically, *built the April-bot for himself and the Buffy-bot for Spike.* "He's programmed not to report us."  
  
"But I thought he'd act just like Xander," Jonathon whined. "Xander would run right to the Slayer and tell."  
  
"I didn't have any trouble with that part of the programming, so obviously, keeping secrets from Queen Buffy isn't out of character for him," Warren smirked.  
  
"Uhmm, excuse me." Xander held up his hand like a kid in school with a question. "I *am* Xander, aren't I? Why do you keep talking about me like I'm somebody else?"  
  
"Well," Warren said smugly, "You are Xander - mostly."  
  
For some reason, Xander felt he couldn't get pushy with this other man, so he just waited patiently for him to go on. Warren's smirk grew larger upon noticing this.  
  
"That demon Andrew summoned - we think he went after you 'cos you smelled like the Slayer," Jon offered. "He sorta, uhm, tore open your skull." The short man looked distinctly green at this memory. He gulped a time or two, got control of himself and went on. "We brought you back here, but you died right after we got here."  
  
Warren took up the tale, obviously very proud of himself. "We couldn't have a dead Slayer Gang member on our hands, could we? First, the questions - this is my mom's basement, after all. Second, Buffy'd eventually figure out you were gone, and maybe track it back to us. Not that she's caught onto us yet, but we don't need to take too many chances. I'd been working on a new program, a human-robot hybrid, that would be more real than the last ones I built, and I decided to try it on you." He began to strut around the table, preening. "You have Xander's body, with reinforcements, of course. They're buried deep enough that mere cuts and abrasions wouldn't show the mechanics - you'd have to be hurt pretty bad before it would be noticeable. But you'll never break another bone. You have an electronic control system, but it's solar powered through miniature collectors in your skin, no battery drain, and it even makes use of a mechanical pulmonary and nervous system."  
  
Jonathon got excited, and broke in. "I found a spell that transferred all your memories from your dead brain to the computer one, so you're still you that way, too." Warren glared at the boyish mage, and he shut up.  
  
"So, essentially, you're Xander Harris - with a few improvements. Your own personality will control all of you, but I can program you to do anything that isn't directly in opposition to what the living Xander would do - which is why you won't tell the Slayer about us." He frowned, not wanting to admit any failure. "It's also why you won't spy on the Slayer and her other friends for us."  
  
"Because - *I* wouldn't?" It should have been confusing, but to Xander's now mechanical brain, it made perfect sense. Warren snorted and nodded.  
  
"Damned Boy Scout," he mumbled extremely quietly. Xander discovered he had enhanced hearing in his new body.  
  
"So why do I feel..." Xander shrugged, unable to quite identify the feeling. Then it struck him. "...nothing? I don't *feel* anything. I mean, my brain is telling my face to look confused, but I don't feel it, really. I know I just need more data."  
  
Jonathon's face looked ineffably sad. "We couldn't find a spell to transfer emotions."  
  
Warren seemed unimpressed by the loss. "My programming will help figure out what emotion would be appropriate for every situation, and you'll display it. No biggie." Xander could read the faces of the other two men, and was conscious that to them, it *had* been a big sacrifice, but one that had to be made.  
  
Still, Jonathon looked sad. Jonathon had been *Friend is not the correct word,* his program reported. He knew Jonathon. He should offer him comfort. "If Warren says it's no biggie, Jon, it isn't." The programmer's smirk reappeared.  
  
The sorcerer whirled to confront Warren. "You made him subservient to you!" he screamed.  
  
Warren grinned evilly. "Apparently, Harris had a core religious belief in a Supreme Being. I just made him honor his Maker. Even if he has a self-repairing program, he appreciates the one who gave it to him." If looks could kill, Warren would be raw meat, considering the expressions both Andrew and Jonathon were wearing.  
  
~**~  
  
"...So that's it. Perhaps you could tell me what emotion would have been appropriate for me to show after I killed Spike, so that I can update my program there." He looked at her sharply. "But you don't know, do you? He still hasn't figured that part out. Although you're much better built than I am, and I was supposed to be nearly perfectly undetectable. Still, Anya figured me out, too."  
  
Her program considered denying it all, but the Xander-bot wasn't as fuzzy-brained as even Spike had been about the nearly imperceptible changes. He knew what she was, because he was the same. She just ignored it for a moment. "So, Anya caught you. How?" After a moment, Buffy added, "Is that why you two broke up last week?"  
  
"It had something to do with the emotion thing and sex. She couldn't quite explain, she just knew. Finally she called on D'Hoffryn, who was able to discern it right off. She owes him now - she's got five years to wrap everything up, then he gets her back. She couldn't explain why she argued with him for that five year thing, either - it would make logical sense for her to go right back to him, since she seemed to only enjoy being human to be with me, and we're broken up now." Xander's tone held no bragging or pride - he'd stated a simple fact. His face showed curiosity she knew he wasn't feeling. "How'd it happen to you?"  
  
"Well, the night they turned me invisible, we thought they'd caught me in time. But I went out on patrol later, and started to feel - rubbery. I went right to Warren when I realized what was happening. It seems turning me back to visible only slowed the cellular breakdown some - it didn't stop it. This," she gestured to her body, "was the only way he could help, so I let him do it."  
  
The conversation switched gears, and anyone watching who'd known them before would have simply registered two old friends bantering. "So," Xander grinned slyly, "we finally have something in common. Does that mean you'll finally look twice at me?"  
  
"Xander, I looked twice at you when you came out of the locker room in the tiny little swimsuit in High School." Her grin was equally sly.  
  
"Buffy," his face grew more serious, "do you forgive me for Spike?"  
  
Her expression was thoughtful. "To start with, you know I don't feel anything that demands your regret, which is good, since you can't really give it. Still, she - I - was unhappy about that relationship. I was running away from my life, and he was as far away as I could get while physically staying here. After Warren fixed me, I just went back to what I'd been doing. Spike never noticed I'd changed. You did the right thing. It was logical, and yes, the whole thing with Spike was hurtful for everyone. There's nothing to forgive."  
  
Xander put his arm around her and hugged her to him. She placed her arms around his neck and returned it. "Perhaps we should look out for each other," he said as she rested her head on his chest. "Anya has promised not to tell, but we could still give each other pointers so no one else will guess - after all, you recognized that my response was improper even when I didn't. We can watch for those kinds of things - help modify our programming to better be who we are supposed to be."  
  
She smiled, since her program told her it was the right thing to do when saying the next words. "It does seem we were made to be together."  
  
~**~ 


End file.
